Where Lions Fall
by BluePhyre
Summary: Eleven. They were eleven, the both of them. Eleven was too young to know the pain of the world. Eleven was too young to have so many scars. What had happened to this boy? Who on earth could be heartless enough to hurt him? Remus/James FRIENDSHIP.


**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter... Or anything much else XP**

Hello, all. I don't work on this side of spectrum often- meaning the "good" side, good being in quotes because I like to add a little goodness in "evil" characters- but when I do, it's really fucking depressing. Actually, most-everything I write is either depressing or fluffy. This would be a little of both. You can read it as slash if you want, but it's not. And I don't mention them, but Remus IS wearing pants, okay? Good. READ NOW.

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><p>Eleven. They were eleven, the both of them. They had just begun to attend Hogwarts. They had just begun to use magic- though, it seemed like Remus was far superior. They hadn't learned what made men marry women, despite the girl cooties that infested them. And, while James knew how babies were made, he didn't understand <em>why<em> adults wanted the experience at all. They were innocent boys, and, while the boy with messy, short black hair and happy brown eyes didn't like to admit he was ignorant, he knew it to be true.

Eleven was too young to know the pain of the world. Eleven was too young to have so many scars.

Remus hadn't smiled once since he was sorted into Gryffindor. James had noticed that- he had been intrigued by the shabby, very serious boy who slept next to him in the dormitory. He had been from the start. It hadn't crossed the Potter boy's mind, however, that Remus could have just… never smiled at all. For all the things he had against him- the state of his robes, tattered and dull, the mousy color of his hair that had been trimmed in the "My mum wanted to save money," cut, the way he never made eye contact and forgot that the purpose of talking was to be _heard_- Remus Lupin was adorable, and there was no way something that genuinely _cute_ could ever have had a terrible life. Perhaps James wasn't thinking exactly along those lines, but he had come to the same conclusion: Remus' life couldn't possibly _suck_ enough to keep him from smiling.

At least, that was what James reckoned, and he assumed instead that Remus was one of those obnoxious blokes that refused to accept the House he had been put into. He had pinned that on Sirius Black at first, too, who slept on the other side of him. That had turned out to be half true' Black didn't blame the Hat and didn't hate the House, but his family did. Sirius had decided that the moment he stepped foot back on the platform for Christmas break, his parents would scold him from straying from the Black Family tradition: Slytherin.

James knew the weight of tradition well, being pureblood as well. Was the Lupin family pureblooded? He had assumed so. Most purebloods that cared aimed for Slytherin. Had Remus wanted to join them? He was rather bookish- a text perched in the mousy boy's hands every moment James snuck a glance at him- so perhaps he had yearned for membership in the Ravenclaw House instead. Remus might have felt his intelligence insulted, rather than his heart complimented. That seemed more in the character of the boy who never talked, smiled, or enjoyed life like an eleven-year-old without parental supervision was meant to. Definitely a Ravenclaw wannabe.

But.. As James woke up in his poster bed and drew back the curtains to his left…. There was the back, stronger and much more muscular that he had expected it to be, of Remus was there, bare, and glistening in the limited sunlight shining through the windows. He was covered in small beads of water, as if he had just sat out long enough and still enough for dew to form on his pallid skin. Those pearls of light, however, didn't catch the sun like the rest of his back. Scars shown even whiter than his colorless, sickly skin in a beautiful, tragic web. Some were thin, insignificant, while very few were raised like angry, stressed blood vessels. They cloaked Remus' back, but seemed to go further in each direction. James wondered for only a moment if, upon running his hands through that soft head of hair, he would find more. As Remus' arms worked whatever was before him- if James had bothered to look, it was a care package marked "urgent"- he caught a glimpe of scars there, too. This small boy was a taught, hardened, wounded, and warped little thing, unlike James knew himself to be, unlike he imagined the lump of a boy across the way named Pettigrew to be. But then again, he hadn't thought the sweet, soft, and meek Remus Lupin would have such an ill-fitting body, either.

And then, in the neight of James' wondrous staring, Remus turned and caught his eyes. The raven-haired boy saw the fear there, behind his soft brown eyes. Remus' uncaring mask had come down, just for a moment, and he was terrified. What had happened to this boy? Why did he have so many scars? Who on earth could be heartless enough to hurt him?

As Lupin stared, the light illuminating half og his face, James noticed the final, devious, _inconceivable_ last touch of abuse to the horror. It wasn't obvious, as Remus' face was round with baby fat, his skin a model of perfect, pale complexion. It blended in under candelight, and the bring sun usually whitewashed him. But now, as James gawked at his misfortunate boy he had pegged so wrongly, as he _knew_ there were scars littering his body, he saw the long, lone, puckering mark that traveled across Remus' face from left cheekbone to the right end of his jaw's hinge. Someone had marked this boy's _face,_ and the brutality of it all seemed much more real.

"What?" Remus as defensively. That was the first thing James had ever heard him say, and in the embarrassment of being caught, he blushed. James shook his head furiously and yanked the curtains shut once more. In retrospect, the boy considered the look that had plastered on his face, possibly of horror or disgust. Surely, Remus got that too often… Did he know it was hatred of the person that disfigured him, and not the he himself?

Peering out more discreetly now, James watched as Remus traced the mark on his face. Guilt flooded James' stomach, and the tight, burning sensation of tears welled up in his throat and behind his eyes. Remus had to be the bravest person he knew- definitely. He was a Gryffindor by no mistake. That poor boy… So brave.

He never stopped believing that.

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><p>Well, how'd you like it? Please review and tell me :3 I love to hear everyone's opinions, so even if it's anonymous, please leave some feedback! I also need inspiration, so if you want to request anything... ;) Hit me up! Poor Remus... He needs your love. Review! And have a nice day, too :)<p> 


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